A Study in Murder
Page 24
Touchy? She was touchy? She could only be described as confused. For goodness’ sake, although they’d not been much more than friendly acquaintances before the murder, she’d known the man for years. They met each week at the book club, they shared ideas, they’d danced a few times at the Assembly Rooms.
Now she was spending a great deal of time with him, and he was escorting her places where only a few weeks ago she would have gone by herself. The Assembly Rooms, the book club. For heaven’s sake, last week he’d even arrived on Sunday morning to escort her to church! And joining them for lunch after church had become a weekly ritual.
Not that she was complaining. She found his company extremely enjoyable. He was always dressed as a gentleman and even smelled good. William was witty, charming, and possessed of a smile that had on occasion done strange things to her insides.
“I would not say I am touchy. I am merely attempting to keep everything in its … proper place.” She fumbled the words, grunting as Lacey tugged on the sleeve of her dress. Even she had no idea what that ridiculous statement meant.
“There!” Lacey stood back and looked at Amy’s reassembled outfit. “I think you look lovely, and his lordship will think so as well.” Before Amy could retort with another unintelligible, clever sentence, Lacey raced from the room, the sound of her laughter trailing behind her.
* * *
When she and William arrived at the Atkinson & Tucker bookstore that night, most of the other members had already assembled. William joined a group of men and Amy headed toward Lady Carlisle, who stood with Mrs. Miles, Lady Abigail, and Mrs. Morton.
Amy noted that Lady Carlisle’s appearance and demeanor were significantly better than they had been the last few times she had seen her. She appeared very relaxed, almost sleepy. “Good evening, Lady Amy; how nice to see you.”
“And you as well, Lady Carlisle.” Amy turned to the other ladies and nodded a good evening to them, then turned her attention back to Lady Carlisle. “You are looking so much better than the last time we met.”
She waved her off. “I must apologize for that. I’m afraid I was having a bad day. You need not concern yourself.”
As the group conversed, Amy studied Lady Carlisle, amazed at the difference in the woman. She was quite cheerful, smiling and nodding at the story Lady Abigail was relating. She seemed to find things funny in Lady Abigail’s story that no one else thought amusing.
Lady Abigail and Mrs. Morton cast curious glances at Lady Carlisle, but Mrs. Miles seemed oblivious to the woman’s behavior. Almost as if she didn’t see anything odd about it, or didn’t notice that Lady Carlisle’s behavior that evening was in serious contrast to the way she’d behaved on the streets of Bath when she had raced away from them in an extremely agitated state.
Shortly after the last of the members arrived, Mr. Colbert called the meeting to order, and they all moved toward the chairs. William sat next to Amy, with Mrs. Miles on the sofa across from them and Lady Carlisle next to her, whispering to Mrs. Morton, giggling like a schoolgirl.
William turned to Amy with raised brows.
Amy shook her head and shrugged.
The discussion of their latest book began, but didn’t hold Amy’s interest. Contemplating a pretend murder was not as interesting as pondering a real one. Especially when she had no reason to believe the police had uncovered anything in their investigation that would point to someone other than her.
On another note, she was certain that once Papa discovered his man had bowed out of the investigation and Amy had not secured the services of the replacement Sir Holstein had referred to her, there would be repercussions from London. Something she was certainly not looking forward to. If Papa learned of Sir Holstein’s defection, it would be much more pleasant if he sent Michael in his place to chastise her and see to hiring a replacement. She could manipulate her brother better than she could Papa.
She did feel a twinge of guilt, knowing that Papa remained in London with peace of mind because he thought Sir Holstein was on the job and therefore looking out for her. He would be livid when he learned she had placed herself in danger by ignoring the investigator’s advice.
Her mind was drawn back to the discussion at hand. Lady Carlisle didn’t seem interested in the book either, and it appeared most of the other members were also drifting away. Either the book they were discussing—thank goodness it wasn’t one of hers—was boring, or Lady Carlisle’s silliness had infiltrated the group until no one much cared what was going on.
Amy caught Mr. Colbert glowering at Lady Carlisle every once in a while. Eventually, Mr. Miles stood and took Lady Carlisle by the elbow and escorted her out of the room. By this time, no one was following the discussion, and Mr. Colbert called an end to the meeting.
“Well, that was surreal,” William said as the members stood and began to avail themselves of the refreshments laid out. “Would you care for some tea or lemonade, ladies?”
Amy and Mrs. Miles both asked for lemonade, and William headed toward the table. Lady Carlisle and Mr. Miles returned. Lady Carlisle was a bit more subdued now, but still not her normal self. Mr. Miles said something to her and left to speak with the other men.
“Won’t you join us, Lady Carlisle?” If something was going on with the woman, Amy wanted to know what it was. After all, she was in the middle of a murder investigation, and everything—and everyone—was under suspicion.
Lady Carlisle sat and fiddled with the beautiful gold-and-emerald necklace that seemed a bit out of place at a book club meeting. “That is a lovely necklace,” Amy said.
“Fake,” Mrs. Miles muttered.
Amy glanced at Mrs. Miles, not completely sure she’d heard her correctly. She didn’t say anything else.
“Yes, my husband gave it to me for my birthday. Isn’t it beautiful?” The woman beamed and wrapped the necklace around her finger.
“Fake.”
Amy ignored Mrs. Miles. “Yes, it is beautiful. Do you know where he purchased it?”
Lady Carlisle waved her hand. “No.” She giggled. “Does it matter?”
“Fake.”
A bit taken aback by the three-way conversation that only she seemed to be aware of, Amy pressed her fingertips to her head, which had begun to pound. “No, I guess it does not matter. I just wondered which shop had such lovely things.”
“Fake.”
Dear God in heaven, if this didn’t stop, she was going to explode like some sort of Chinese firecracker. Instead, she took a deep breath. “If you will excuse me, ladies, I believe I would enjoy a cup of tea.”
“What’s wrong?” William said as she approached him. “I apologize, I forgot your lemonade.”
“That is fine. I think I prefer a cup of tea, actually.”
William looked over to where Mrs. Miles and Lady Carlisle were involved in an intense conversation. Well, it appeared Mrs. Miles was intense. Lady Carlisle was still her somnolent self.
Amy leaned in closer to William. “I complimented Lady Carlisle on her necklace, and every time she mentioned it, Mrs. Miles mumbled ‘Fake.’”
This time it appeared William’s eyebrows would meet his hairline. “’Tis a strange relationship those two women share.”
“Indeed.” They both watched as Lady Carlisle gathered her belongings and, without a word to anyone, left the room.
Amy put her teacup down and nudged William. “Come. I want to hear more about this fake necklace.”
William grabbed a cup of lemonade, and they strolled to where Mrs. Miles sat by herself. He held out the glass. “I apologize profusely, Mrs. Miles. I forgot all about your lemonade.”
She gave William a bright smile. “That is fine, my lord.” She took the glass from him and took a delicate sip.
Amy sat on one side of the woman, William on the other. “Mrs. Miles, when Lady Carlisle mentioned her lovely necklace, you mentioned it was fake.”
Mrs. Miles nodded. “Fake.”
“Can you tell me why you said that?”
William cleared his throat. “Are you insinuating that her husband gave her fake jewelry?”
Mrs. Miles straightened in her seat, indignation on her face. “Of course not. That lovely man would never do such a thing. He is a devoted husband and deserves more than her for a wife.”
Oh, my.
Amy looked over at William, who shrugged. She turned her attention back to Mrs. Miles. “Then why do you say her necklace is fake?”
“Because she sold all the stones and replaced them with paste. Every single piece of jewelry her husband has given her. All fake. All paste.” She shook her head and took another sip.
Glancing sideways at William, Amy said, “I thought you and Lady Carlisle were friends?”
“Ha!” She snorted. “’Tis hard to be friends with that one.”
“Mother, I think it is time for us to leave.” Mr. Miles arrived, glancing at his mother, then Amy and William. “I hope my mother has not been boring you with more of her childhood tales.” His attempted smile never quite fully formed.
“No. Not at all. It’s been a pleasant conversation.”
Mr. Miles gripped his mother’s elbow and nodded at them before walking her to the door.
William watched the couple leave the room. “If this was one of your books, now is when the reader would say, ‘The plot thickens.’”
Amy continued to stare at the door where Mr. Miles and his mother had just exited. “Just so.”
* * *
The next afternoon Amy sat at her desk, staring at a blank sheet of paper. She could think of nothing to add to the new book she had just started. She gazed out the window at the lovely spring day. Soon summer would be upon them and it would be time to think about a trip to Sussex, to one of the beaches.
A month-long vacation had been her habit for years. She and Aunt Margaret packed up and moved to a cottage they owned near the beach. There she wrote, strolled in the sand, and enjoyed food unique to that area.
Some of her best writing had been produced at her writer’s retreat, which is how she’d begun to think of her time spent there. Aunt Margaret enjoyed long walks, read numerous books, and attempted to drag Amy away from her writing at least twice a day for some fun.
Her thoughts of summer, beaches, and warm weather were interrupted by the sound of carriage wheels rolling to a stop in front of the townhouse.
Within minutes Lacey was at her door. “Milady, those two detectives are back again.”
Amy moaned and dropped her head into her hands. Always hopeful that their visit would be to announce the news that the murderer had been caught, she placed her pen in the ink holder and stood. “Very well. I will be down directly.”
She checked her appearance in the mirror over her dressing table, adjusted her dress sleeve to cover the remaining bruise, and left the room. Just one step into the drawing room, Amy knew the detectives were not there with good news. Scowling would have been a kind description of their demeanor.
Both men took a seat once she sat, her heart taking funny little extra beats. Detective Carson came right to the point. “You have been interfering with our investigation.”
Well, at least they hadn’t come to arrest her for murder, so that was a relief. A slight relief, based on their stiff bearing.
Best to play ignorant and see what exactly they considered ‘interfering.’ “I’m not sure what you mean, Detectives.”
“One thing we have learned throughout this investigation is that you are not a stupid woman, Lady Amy. But if you want to pretend you don’t know what we’re talking about, I will play your game.” He pointed at her. “Did you not visit with Mr. Harris at his place of business to question him?”
She shook her head. “No. I went to his place of business because I was considering investing in his company.”
“Have you other investments, Lady Amy?”
She drew herself up. “Yes. As a matter of fact, I do.”
Carson leaned in, a nasty smile on his face. “How many of those investments have you personally visited?”
“Since I invest heavily in banks, and I visit my bank on a weekly basis, I would say all of them.” No sooner had the words left her mouth than she realized her mistake. They were not in a jolly mood and would not appreciate her attempt at humor.
Detective Marsh glanced down at his ever-present notepad. “You said when we questioned you about Miss Eva Hemphill that you barely knew her, and had no idea she and your fiancé—”
“Ex-fiancé.”
“—had been courting before he proposed to you.”
“That would be correct, Detective.”
Carson stood and loomed over her, forcing her to lean back. She bristled at his heavy-handedness. This was becoming too much. They were treating her like a criminal.
“Yet you and your gentleman friend were both there to discover her dead body.”
Truth be known, there wasn’t a great deal she could say to that. But she gave it her best attempt. “I did not know her when you questioned me before, but I met her a time or two after that at the sewing circle, and we became …”
Carson’s brows rose. “Yes?”
Botheration. She couldn’t say “friends,” because who knew what they had learned about Miss Hemphill. “I became concerned about her well-being,” she finished lamely.
Although she knew he did not believe that, Carson didn’t question her words, since he had obviously made his point, but continued on. “You have been probing members of your book club and annoying upstanding citizens with suggestions and innuendoes.”
Members of her book club? Lady Carlisle? Mrs. Miles? Had one of them complained to the police? She dismissed immediately the thought that Mr. Miles had protested about her speaking with his mother the night before, because, with his own illegal goings-on, he would be the last person to involve the law in his life to any degree.
Detective Marsh snapped his notebook closed. “And you withheld pertinent information from the police.”
“What information?”
Carson sat back down and rested his spread fingers on his knees. “You learned from your gardener, Mr. Albright, that one of your book club members sold him drugs.”
Drat. Somehow they’d found that out.
“Mr. Albright might have said something about that; I’m not quite sure.”
Carson glared at her. “As we said, Lady Amy, you are not a stupid woman. He told you who his drug supplier was, and you would certainly remember. That was pertinent information that you neglected to report to the police.”
At that point, she decided keeping quiet was her best course of action.
Detective Marsh moved to the edge of his seat as if he was preparing to stand and, hopefully, leave. “We have reason to believe your accident was no accident, Lady Amy. The spokes on Lord Wethington’s wheel were deliberately cut.” He glowered at her. “You and your cohort could have been killed. In fact, it is safe to say that was the intention.”
She breathed a sigh of relief as both men stood. Detective Marsh then leaned down, took her by the elbow, and forced her to stand. “Lady Amy Lovell, you are under arrest for suspicion of murder and interfering in a police investigation.”
Her jaw dropped as he pulled out his handcuffs, snapped them over her wrists, and moved her forward. “This is outrageous,” she shouted.
When they reached the entrance hall, Lacey stood at the door, wringing her hands. “What should I do, milady?”
As they whisked her through the front door, Amy called over her shoulder, “Send a note around to Lord Wethington.” They hurried her down the stairs. “Immediately!”
CHAPTER 25
“Do you know who I am?” Amy stood with her hands fisted at her hips, attempting to look intimidating but falling a bit short, with the blasted men ignoring her as they scribbled away. Her foot tapped a cadence as she stared at Detec
tive Carson while he wrote information on the form in front of him. It appeared the man did know how to write.
He didn’t bother to look up. “Yes. You are Lady Amy Lovell.”
She sniffed and added, “Daughter of the Marquess of Winchester.”
“I know.”
“You cannot arrest a peer.”
“I have already arrested you.”
Amy quelled the urge to stamp her foot and instead walked around the small room that she, Detective Carson, and Detective Marsh occupied. “This is not proper. If it is discovered I have been in a room with two men with the door closed, I will be ruined.”
For the first time Carson looked up. “I know nothing about your society rules, but I would say being arrested on suspicion of murder and interfering in a police investigation might be considered a bit more ruinous than being alone in a room with two men.”
Amy leaned over the desk, planted her hand on the forms he was filling out, and stared him straight in the eye. “As you said, you are unfamiliar with my world. Believe me when I tell you that this is worse.”
Carson held her eyes for a minute, then said, “Marsh, open the blasted door for her ladyship.”
She straightened and smoothed nonexistent wrinkles from her skirts. “How long do you plan to keep me here?” She smirked. “Until I confess?”
“Do you have a confession to make?” the evil man smirked back.
About two hours had passed since they’d left her house and arrived at the police department. For most of that time she had been alone in the room, the two detectives only joining her for the last ten minutes. “We have sent a message to your father.”
Amy closed her eyes. “Oh, no. Please, why would you do that? You know Lord Wethington will arrive as soon as he receives my message.” Visions of Papa storming into the police building, waving his arms, shouting threats, then dragging her back to London filled her mind.
Carson stood and moved to the front of the desk, where he rested his hip and regarded her. “Lady Amy, you don’t seem to understand how dangerous your actions are. You are not a trained investigator. You have no experience with police work. You and Lord Wethington are roaming Bath, asking questions and making someone very, very nervous.”